


bash it up

by bokutoma



Series: rock me harder [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Battle of the Bands, Multi, byleth's ships are gonna be intentionally ambiguous, get ready gamers, more tags as i go oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-06 22:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20514341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: byleth is a locally famous cover artist with deadly guitar skills and a scream that would wake the dead. her gigs pay the bills, she's doing what she loves, and she has all the companionship she needs with her father.then, three punks nearly crash into her after a set, running from a population that seems to be all too easy to incite into violence. when it comes down to it, byleth has never been one to back away from a fight, either on or off stage, and when all three want her assistance making it big, well...who is she to say no?





	1. Chapter 1

Byleth was no stranger to a rowdy crowd.

It didn't faze her; most things didn't. Still, Jeralt's hand on her back was a welcome weight, steadying as only he could be. They had been accompanied by others, freelancers who were with them to get a taste of Blade Breaker fame (Her father would say that they were there for her, too, the Ashen Demon with a scream like the damned, but she wasn't certain that was true.), but they'd left, unnerved by the lack of distinction between the people and their personas. Now, though, it was just the two of them, just as it had been ever since she could remember, but the people of Remire pressed closer than most, and her skin crawled with discomfort she couldn't express.

"Good show, kid," Jeralt said, leaning closer in a way that somehow made the others back off, all bulk and muscle and vintage star power. "Not sure where you got those vocals from, but you kill it every time."

And maybe she was a little rusty when it came to letting the persona drop (had she ever?), but inside, she glowed with his praise, holding it warm and close.

They made it to the door with only a minimal amount of shoving after that, and the cool night air was a welcome relief to the sweat-slick of her body. She loved playing more than just about anything, but there was something special about the thud of thick soles against asphalt, the beat of the encore still thrumming in her chest. The smog of cities didn't allow her to see the stars, the curtain too thick, but if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine being among them.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the street, jostling the quiet of the night, and three figures came skidding around the corner, instrument cases bumping against their bodies.

"Whoa there." Jeralt's sharp tone cut through the dark like a knife, and the three came to an abrupt halt beneath the dim exit lights of the venue.

Now that she could see them, Byleth found that she couldn't quite be shocked by their youth - only teenagers had that kind of energy, that kind of constant desperation. Still, there was something, remarkably self-possessed about each of them, and she couldn't help being impressed. Even she had trouble, after all.

"Breaking your gear isn't exactly a way to endear you to any manager you're late to meet," her father continued, but she still studied them. The boy on the left didn't look like most people she'd met in Fodlan, but she supposed she hadn't seen everything. Regardless, she liked his look, casual at first glance in his ripped jeans and t shirt, but when he turned, she could see the labels embroidered subtly at the hem and waist. Between the intricate braid he wore and the shark grin that tugged at his lips, Byleth knew he could be trouble.

The only girl among them looked like the kind you'd fuck with if you had a death wish - Byleth liked her immediately. She looked the way everyone had ten years ago, all black and red and heavy makeup. If someone had pressed a knife into the girl's hand, she would probably know what to do with it. Byleth missed those days.

And the last boy, the boy who had nearly toppled an industrial sized trash can in his hurry, looked like no performer she'd ever met. His skin like porcelain, unblemished and free of anything but the barest hint of eyeliner, and the way his blond hair fell made him look nearly regal. When she tore her gaze from his face, though, the studs on his jacket and the visible bandaging of his fingers made it clear he was more than a figurehead.

They looked like punk ass kids, but then, Byleth supposed she did too.

"Not going to any gig, Pops," the first boy drawled, his faintly amused look a far cry from the concern of his peers.

"Claude, stop," the girl hissed, then snapped into the most practiced, polite smile Byleth had ever seen. "Please forgive us, but we seem to have run into a bit of trouble."

"Apparently, training consists of being abandoned to a gig among a rather...tough crowd," the other boy said. "I hope you don't mind, but you look rather capable, and we can reward you for your help."

"Speak for yourself, Dimitri," Claude said, but Byleth was no longer paying attention, eyes affixed firmly to her father.

"What do you say, kid?" Jeralt asked, but a hungry gaze had already overtaken his face. "Should we help them out?"

Of course, there was only one answer.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where are they?” Byleth asked, voice about as smooth as gravel on a country road. She didn’t smile, didn’t quite know how, but _sonorous_ might have been a good word to describe her with, if Jeralt’s wicked grin had anything to say about it.

“Huh?” Claude looked at her strangely, as though there were few people who’d be willing to help a few troublemaking teens.

Actually, that was probably _exactly_ why.

“You heard her,” Jeralt said, shouldering his case with a little more finality. “Kid, you got any place for us to stash our stuff?”

The three looked between themselves, unsure who he was speaking to, but Byleth was already pushing the back door open, staring at the nearest attendant with her guitar proffered like a casual sacrifice. Behind her, she heard Jeralt question the kids further as he passed her case after case, but she was content he had it handled.

When the door shut, the thugs were there.

“Found yourself a couple friends to play with, eh?” the leader snarled from the back, a cocky grin playing across his face. “Looks like we’ll get to have more fun than we anticipated.”

“Not much of a challenge, are they?” her father said, gifting her with the sort of look that only came after a flawless set; it had been too long since she’d seen it in this context. “You look after the kids, and don’t worry about the cost of our stuff. We’ll play a couple more songs and that’ll be that.”

“There is no need to incur a debt on our behalves-“

“Hey, Edelgard?” Claude cocks his head as he sinks into a rather unusual fighting stance. “Let’s focus on these chumps, _then_ worry about what these kind people are doing for us, yeah?”

“Eyes forward.” Byleth’s voice assumes command far more naturally than she herself does, but as one, the three snap forward, each one overcome with a sort of clever ferocity that would be enough to make her smile, if she was anything close to normal. “Split.”

“Fancy yourself a master of war, eh?” The thugs were but beasts, with wolfish smiles and glinting claws. Byleth was ready to tear them to shreds. “Let’s see how your _tactics_ work when you’ve been gutted for the rats.”

Dimitri tensed before her, and she caught iron in the wickedness of his teeth.

“Move,” she said.

Byleth didn’t know these kids from any of the starstruck youth that gathered in places like these, waiting for stardom to fall down and slip between their strings, but they fought like alleyways were their homes, like stuttering neon and the scent of smoke bathed them with more regularity than a shower. She was at home because she _had_ been, for all intents and purposes, but they all took to it like a mosh pit with a little more edge.

The thugs came at them with switchblades open and gleaming. Edelgard was their answer, with a butterfly knife glinting lethally in one hand. She sidestepped one with ease, scoring a like up the side of his arm as naturally as breathing. Dimitri was no less dangerous for his lack of a weapon; as Byleth ducked a fist, he sent his boot into another one’s abdomen, sending the bastard tumbling into a wall with a sickening crack. She herself was untouchable, dodging each extension of limb with clarity won from experience. All she had to do was wait and...Her hand flashed out, fingers locked side by side, and the edge crashed into her opponent’s neck like a tidal wave. He recoiled, and she struck again, slamming her elbow against his temple and watching as he slumped to the ground.

“_Claude_!” Dimitri hissed.

Byleth whirled around, the thug that hadn’t been occupied with the other three skulked toward Claude, who was leaning back against the wall, hands above his head and utterly exposed. Something like fear gripped her then, and she couldn’t understand why she cared more about these three than any of the changing faces that had joined her and Jeralt’s permanent tour.

There was no way she could reach him in time, hadn’t he been ready to fight?

The man lunged. Claude was ready.

Nearly as fast as her eye could follow, he kicked off the wall, flying past the outstretched drive of the other’s knife hand, fist cocked and at the ready. Though his eyes were offered solely to the man in front of him, Byleth couldn’t help feeling as though the near-manic smile on his face was meant just for her.

“Cheers, motherfucker,” he said, and whatever the answer might have been was lost as knuckles meant nose with a crunch Byleth felt in her bones.

Edelgard and Dimitri disposed of their opponents with similar efficiency, which left only their leader to contend with, but as Edelgard began to ask after Jeralt, Byleth already knew what they would find.

As they turned, there, posed like a conquering hero with one boot planted firmly on the head of the leader - a man who was easily half a foot taller than even Byleth’s father - Jeralt stood, arm cocked on his hip like he’d been waiting since the whole endeavor began. Knowing him, that was entirely possible.

As two of the three gaped - Claude looked impressed but not surprised, and faintly, Byleth wanted to see him get rattled, wanted to make _make_ him rattled - Jeralt grinned.

“Nice work, kid,” he said, casual as ever, grinding the thug’s face into the asphalt as he ambled over to ruffle her hair. “The rest of you too. Pretty good job for a bunch of toddlers.”

Claude’s face is unchanged and Edelgard looks rather unimpressed, but Dimitri glows with the praise, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thanks, Pops,” Claude says, chewing gum she’s not sure when he acquired. “Not so bad yourself.”

“I didn’t even see you pass us. The both of you are prolific at fighting.” Somehow, Edelgard appears both admiring and suspicious; it’s a combination Byleth herself knows all too well.

“Indeed,” Dimitri concurs. “If you play nearly as well as you fight, then it’s a wonder you haven’t been catapulted to the stars.”

Jeralt snorts, but Byleth merely remains unimpressed. Nothing is ever that simple.

“You’re about to find out,” Jeralt said, clapping his hands on each of the boys’ shoulders.

“Pardon me?” The confusion on Dimitri’s face is palpable, and it’s almost adorable.

“Your stuff was stored. You said we shouldn’t incur debts on your behalf.”

“Hold on,” Claude said, spreading his hands. “_I_ personally said Edelgard should speak for herself-“

Jeralt’s hand tightens on Claude’s shoulder, and Byleth almost sympathizes as he winces. “We’ll all be performing,” he said, smiling widely. “Hope you’re worth your salt.”


	3. Chapter 3

The bar was still crowded when Byleth, Jeralt, and the kids squeezed their way back in, the bartered bodies of the thugs left for the dogs in the alleyway behind them, and she swallowed back the initial wave of claustrophobia as the people of Remire crowded around her again.

Jeralt commanded attention with ease, and as he grabbed his guitar from the attendant, Byleth pulled the others to the side and noticed how they trembled.

“Why were you being pursued?” she asked, watching her father tune up from the corner of her eyes. Edelgard winced and Dimitri coughed awkwardly. Claude, of course, had no reaction, but she was beginning to expect that.

“I suppose we have not properly introduced ourselves, have we?” Edelgard said. “I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heiress of the Adrestia Music Company. My father and the other advisors are known for their rather unusual methods when it comes to recruitment and advertising, so you could see how we might have earned ourselves a bit of a reputation, not to mention enemies.”

Yes, even Byleth had heard of Adrestia. She had played more than a few shows in the region by the same name, and their advertisements had been plastered everywhere she had looked.

“How do you do, miss?” Claude said, stepping forward and tipping an imaginary hat. “I’m Claude von Riegan, son of one of the prominent members of the Leicester label. I can’t claim any haters like Edelgard can, but when you’re a good looking guy with the potential to have a lot of money one day, people love to get the jump on you, literally and figuratively.”

The Leicester Alliance was a region of Fódlan that had dissolved from an actual nation hundreds of years ago, but the Riegan family name was one that still carried weight in some parts of the country. Byleth was beginning to think she and her father were a bit over their heads.

“I suppose that leaves me,” Dimitri said, ducking his head with abashed shyness. “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, son of Faerghus’s most prominent label, Blue Lion Records. Right now, however, my uncle manages the affairs.”

Son of a _bitch_, they’d really gotten mixed up with a fancy crowd, hadn’t they?

“I am Byleth,” she said, suddenly far more wary than before, though when Edelgard lifted a brow, she supposed she had no choice but to give a proper introduction. “Byleth Eisner.”

Dimitri smiled warmly at her as Jeralt strummed his opening notes, and though her sense of unease didn’t quite dissipate, she thought they might be alright after all.

* * *

When Claude took the stage, he commanded attention in a way Byleth admired, all natural authority that couldn’t be faked. Everything about him was carefully crafted to be as casual as possible, but she had seen him fight, and now she saw him for what he was, clever, manipulative, and cunning.

It was admirable, really.

He took his time adjusting the equipment - she noted with some vaguely malicious satisfaction that he dropped the mic stand significantly - but to her surprise, there were very few complaints. Normally, if she or Jeralt took this long, there would be more than a few suggestions as to where they could do their final adjustments, but the most Claude got was a few muttered curses.

“I still don’t understand how he does it,” Dimitri murmured beside her, and Byleth nearly jumped, having forgotten about the others momentarily as she studied the man onstage.

“Claude is of a breed all his own,” Edelgard agreed, just as the first summer bright notes echoed from the speakers.

Claude’s keyboard looked like it belonged to him; though it was covered in stickers, the instrument itself was sleek and modern, and Byleth was more than a little jealous.

“_I let it ride on a bad bet_.”

Claude’s voice was melodic and clear, and though Byleth had never been one to get caught up in the music - even as a kid, she’d always paid attention to technique - much to Jeralt’s chagrin - she found herself tapping her toes to the rhythm he’d laid out.

“_Oh, give it up for at least a second. I’m getting sick of your bullshit attitude_.”

He winked, and though she couldn’t quite tell who it was aimed at, the scoffs that echoed from beside her made it clear that both Edelgard and Dimitri were taking the gesture personally.

“_I’ve got my hands up! Yeah, yeah, I’m staring down the barrel of a loaded night_.”

For solo performances, the keyboard was a difficult instrument to contend with. Without the ability to traverse the length of the stage, one energy drop could be nearly impossible to combat.

Claude, however, had no such problems.

“_So do you want me? Or do you want me dead_?”

As he played the final chord, he head-banged one last time, and Byleth was in awe. Every moment had been magnetic, every note heart-pounding. Without a doubt, he was the real deal.

* * *

Contrary to Claude, Edelgard didn’t waste time. Every stride was purposeful, every movement calculated. She was impressive even by Byleth’s high standards, and if it came down to it, she wouldn’t mind picking the younger girl’s brain for musical cues any time.

She was also commanding, but that came as no surprise. One look at her was enough to know that trifling with her would end in devastation for the challenger. Again, her stage presence was like the way she fought; no movement was wasted, and intimidation looked to be half the game. She didn’t need to play to the crowd because every eye followed her, and even the ones who looked irritated had no choice but to be entranced.

“She’s impressive, isn’t she?” Dimitri asked, looking rueful. “Most people wish for the kind of power she was born with.”

“Bit of a killjoy, though.” Claude shrugged back into place beside them as Edelgard finished setting up, Jeralt not far behind. “I left the crowd warm for her, and they’re cooling down as we speak.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Jeralt snorted, slipping around and standing behind Byleth. “She looks like she’d made make you regret badmouthing her.”

“You saw her fight, didn’t you?” Claude lifted an eyebrow.

Jeralt leveled a deadpan look at him. “Do you really think I’d have a problem?”

Whatever pointless banter they would have engaged in fell to the side as Edelgard strummed her opening notes.

“_You can look, but you can’t touch. I don’t think I like you much_.”

Byleth believed her. Edelgard looked like a vengeful goddess, makeup smudged from the fight. It should have made her look unkempt and unprofessional - Goddess knew Byleth would - but instead she looked battle-hardened, an avenging angel.

“_Bend me, break me, any way you need me. All I want is you_.”

Again, the sensation of being swept away by the music coursed through her, unfamiliar as it was, and Byleth found her fingers drumming subconsciously against her thigh.

“_Maim me, tame me, you can never change me_.”

Edelgard growled into the mic after the chorus, and Byleth felt a shiver run down her spine. While Claude had relied on tricks and cleverness to enhance his performance (it had worked), Edelgard was all passion, raw and fiery.

“_As long as I want you, baby, it’s alright_.”

The final chord issued out, but Edelgard’s white knuckles grip on the microphone didn’t fade.

“Shit,” Jeralt said, clapping a hand against Byleth’s shoulder. “She’s got it.”

* * *

Compared to the frenetic energy of the others, Dimitri was placid, and perhaps this was the performance Byleth related to most. If Claude and Edelgard were at opposite ends of a spectrum, Dimitri was somewhere in the middle, all open amiability and fidgeting hands, eager for the breath of music into his lungs.

“I’m excited for this one,” Jeralt said, smiling with the kind of wild abandon she hadn’t seen in years, ever since the first time she had let out a scream that made her father jump and rush off to write a new song. “He looks like he could go wild if someone gave him the chance.”

“And they can’t?” Byleth waved her hand at Claude and Edelgard; she wasn’t particularly offended by the lack of acknowledgement, but her father’s opinions had always been somewhat unfathomable to her. “I thought they proved themselves quite ably.”

“Oh, they were fucking killer.” The look he gave her was the kind only he had ever been able to pull off when it came to her, all knowing and soul-searching. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you enjoying their music.”

She was spared from answering by the sound of Dimitri picking apart the room with the powerful melody of his guitar.

“_It kills me not to know this, but I’ve all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them_.”

Byleth thought she might have a name for the magnetism Dimitri exuded. Though he didn’t have the playful energy of Claude or the unfiltered passion of Edelgard, he was raw, every emotion left unedited, dangerous only in the way he made the crowd feel.

“_I don’t hate you, boy. I just want to save you while there’s still something left to save_.”

This time, the feeling was too strong to ignore; while the crowd head-banged along, Byleth bobbed her head to the music, the artistry on display overwhelming. She could sing like hell, but these brats were going to give her a hell of a run for her money.

“_Bathed in flames we held the brand, uncurled the fingers in your hand, pressed into the flesh like sand. Now do you understand_?”

The pain on Dimitri’s face was palpable, and thoughtlessly, Byleth wondered what it would be like to wear her feelings that openly. Part of her wanted him to teach her; most of her wanted to smooth the furrow between his brows and comfort him.

“_I love you, girl, but I’m not the answer for the questions that you still have_.”

As Dimitri launched into the end of his song, Byleth slipped around the throngs of people, dodging elbows and fists with practiced ease. Her guitar was easy enough to find, and by the the time she had slipped it on and adjusted everything properly, the blond had played his final notes, panting hard with exhaustion.

It was Byleth’s time now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s byleth’s turn

The heady feeling of being onstage coursed through Byleth’s veins. She had been up here not even an hour ago, but the way these people looked up at her, the surface tension of people ready to spill over, it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measures.

She locked eyes with Jeralt from across the room, and he grinned, wide and feral.

Vaguely, she noted the bruises that were beginning to bloom on her knuckles as she shifted her grip on the guitar, and it brought the smallest of smiles to her face.

Other people warmed up the crowd with an introduction, but whether or not people recognized her, all Byleth was here to do was play. She flexed her hand, feeling the ache in each of her joints and relishing the sting, and with a level stare at the crowd, she began to play.

Heavy guitar poured from the amp like liquid bone, sharp and raw and real, and in that moment, she knew she had them. Already, the crowd was pumping, heads bobbing to the beat as knees bent, primed to go.

“_Finished with my woman ‘cause she couldn’t help me with my mind_.”

And that was the secret of her appeal, really. Her music was raw, her performance graveyard chic, crunchy and wet. She played like her spine was fit to burst through her body, animalistic in the best way, and when she flicked her hair out of her face, it was with decisive authority, no movement without a purpose. In that way, she was like Edelgard, but whereas the heiress was calculated, Byleth moved on pure instinct.

“_All day long, I think of things, but nothing seems to satisfy. Think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find something to pacify_.”

The lights were beginning to liquefy her, pinpricks of heat boring into every pore. She flicked her hair out of her face and saw sweat fly with it. Across the room, the roving spotlights caught Dimitri’s gaze, and the look on his face was the most gratifying response she could have gotten, his mouth was agape, and the way he watched her could only be described as starstruck.

Something about it made her want to wreck him, ruin his ears for any other song.

“_I can’t see the things that make true happiness, I must be blind_.”

They were thrashing now, bodies mingling in perfect discord on the floor below her. Though her face didn’t change even as she snarled out each note, the animal that unchained itself inside her when she played went wild. Another pass of the lights revealed Claude, ducking sinuously around flying elbows as he moved himself closer to the stage.

So he could be affected by things. With that in mind, she wanted to see him lose his composure once and for all.

“_Make a joke and I will sigh, and you will laugh and I will cry. Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal_.”

There was a dagger in her teeth and steel in her blood now, and the backing tracks functioned as her heartbeat. Edelgard was visible now, fierce and smiling, and this was what she had craved, the infallible recognition of a job well done. There were teeth at her neck, sweat spilling down her spine, but the elation on the other woman’s face made Byleth into a supernova.

This was what it felt like to be real.

“_And so as you hear these words telling you now of my state, I tell you to enjoy life. I wish I could, but it’s too late_.”

A deep sense of melancholy washed over her as the song began to draw to a close; it felt ridiculous, how nervous she had been getting on stage juxtaposed with the desire she now had to never leave.

As the final chords soared through the room, an uproar filled the silence where the music stopped, and, to the sound of thunderous applause, Byleth waved and walked off stage.

* * *

When she stepped off stage, Jeralt and the others were there to meet her.

“Nice job, kid,” her father said, pulling her into a tight, quick hug. “You killed it.”

“That’s an understatement.” Edelgard stepped forward, eyes wide and shining. “You were incredible. This hardly counts as a formal invitation, but have you never considered signing with Adrestia? We would love a talent like yours.”

“As would Blue Lion,” Dimitri said, looking just as starstruck.

“Hey, chill out.” Claude stepped forward. “As much as I’d love to bring Byleth to Leicester, you can’t expect her to make that kind of decision off the cuff.”

“Since when have you become the voice of reason?” Edelgard asked suspiciously. “You’re normally the most selfish one of all of us.”

“First of all, _ouch_. Secondly, you know me so well. What I would suggest instead, however, is that we take her back to Garreg Mach.”

Beside her, Jeralt sighed.

“Garreg Mach?” she asked tentatively, hand firm on the neck of her guitar.

“We all head our own bands,” Dimitri explained. “Garreg Mach is where we stay. It’s kind of like a commune for musicians.”

“It’s also the headquarters of Garreg Pop, another giant label,” Jeralt said.

When it came down to it, though, Byleth was all about the music, and if she had the chance to meet people with as much talent as these three did...

She met Jeralt’s gaze with a question in her eyes. He nodded.

“Sign me up,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> based on @ORANGEJUICY on twitter's au
> 
> catch me on twitter currently at @kingblaiddyd and consider donating if you like my fics


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